Fine
by Verdreht
Summary: In which it comes to the attention of the team that Becker really needs to work on his definition of "fine," because this...this ain't it. There's something wrong with Becker, he's convinced there's something wrong with them, and it all might just have something to do with a very bitey baryonyx, and a less-than-meticulous medic. Hurt!Becker, Becker/Connor slash
1. Chapter 1

No rest for the weary. It wasn't the motto for the ARC, but if you asked Matt Anderson, it bloody well should have been. Three calls in that many days, and they hadn't been easy. The second one, especially, at the warehouse with the baryonyx.

They'd lost a man, and not a one of them had gotten out without some sort of bump or scrape. Connor had a black eye from getting knocked back into a shipping container; Abby, scuffs up and down her knees and palms from trying to catch herself when she got thrown by its tail. He himself had taken a good bruising diving clear of it, and again when it nearly trampled him. Becker that took the worst of it, though. It managed to graze him in the though when they were running, trying to corral the bloody thing back towards the anomaly. And while that didn't sound terrible off the bat, a little nip, considering the thing doing the grazing was nearly two metres tall and two thousand kilos heavy, Matt certainly didn't envy him.

He was alright, though. Checked out by the medics, apparently, given the go-ahead to go back to work, or so he'd been told. And with the latest anomaly popping up, they needed as many hands on deck as they could get.

Today, it was like a demented game of Cluedo: Matt Anderson in the library with the coelurus agili. Well, Matt Anderson in the basement with the coelurus. They were all technically in the library, and the little buggers were everywhere. It was like herding kittens, trying to track them all down and get the lot of them back .

They'd managed, though. Mercifully. According to both Connor's and Jess's readings, they had managed to corral the last of the bitey little dinosaurs back through the anomaly. Now all that left was to regroup and get out so the cleaners could do their jobs.

"I'm coming up," he announced over the comm, doing one last scan of the place. He kept hearing things fluttering about, but it always turned out to just be overturned books or ripped pages. The threat had been neutralised.

Now if only he could say the same about the anxious feeling in his gut. Like the danger hadn't quite passed, and the danger wasn't quite averted. And try as he might to shake the feeling, it lingered.

_"Connor and I are already outside,"_ came Abby's voice over the comm.

Matt did a mental roll call in his head and frowned. "We're short one," he said. "Anybody heard from Becker?"

The comms were silent a moment, and that niggling feeling in the pit of Matt's gut was starting to grow - he could hear Connor getting antsy on the other end of the line, too; the pair of them, he and Becker, really were all on about each other - until at last, they heard a curt, _"In the projector room,"_ from Becker. Presumably in the projector room. With the pipe wrench.

From Connor's end, he heard a sigh of relief. _"Bloody hell,"_ he said, _"There's another grey hair on me head. Are you trying to give us all heart attacks?"_ He went on, of course. It was Connor; he always went on. Something about manners and not making people think you'd gone and been gnaws on by tiny little carnivores. All very interesting, Matt was sure, only he couldn't be arsed to listen.

In his defence, he was a mite preoccupied. Becker had answered, sure enough, and it didn't sound like any metre-high dinosaurs were using him as a rawhide chew. But that niggling little feeling wasn't getting any less niggling, and he had the sudden suspicion it might have something to do with their resident head of security.

He decided to take a little detour on the way up.

The copy room was on the first floor, in the administrative corner of the building up near the southeast. It was more or less on his way to the door, by way of references, by way of periodicals. Best and most likely scenario, he happened upon Becker on the way out, and all would be as it should be. Worst, he found the root of that no good feeling slithering about in his chest. And did something about it.

"Start mobilizing. We want everyone clear for the cleanup team," Matt said as he started up the stairs, two at a time.

_"One step ahead of you."_ As she always was, it seemed like. What she lacked in years and experience, she made up for in experience that Jess. And a real pleasant attitude, to boot. She was probably the most agreeable member of the team.

It just so happened he was out to track down the least.

"Oi, Becker, you in here?" he asked as he made it up to the administrative area. Unlike the rest of the library, this bit looked more like an office building than anything, with little cubicles and tiny little rooms, all done up in that same industrial look that was popular in most places of the like. But nothing doing. No response from Becker, even though he should've been in ear shot. He tried again. "Becker, d'you hear me? If ye hear me, say so." They were on the bloody comms, after all. Even if he wasn't in the area, he should've responded.

He was walking past one of the offices, about to get to the copy room to see for himself what was holding the captain up, when all the sudden, he felt something latch onto the back of his coat and tug him backwards. It caught him by surprise, and reflexes or not, whatever it was doing the grabbing was quick enough with a tight enough grip that he didn't really have much choice but to go where it was pulling.

By the time his brain caught up with everything else, he was being pushed against the wall in an arm bar. There was a moment's confusion, then he saw Becker. It was his arm. His hand doing the grabbing. And now, it was his face in Matt's, a finger to his lips and the intent sort of look in his eyes he only seemed to get when there was something worth worrying about.

Matt bloody hated that look.

"Becker?" he asked, only to be shushed sharply. He held up his hands in silent surrender, and Becker, apparently pleased, released him. "What is it?" he mouthed as Becker backed away, hand on his pistol. His eyes were roving the room like he was looking for something, and Matt felt his nerves ratchet up a few notches. What if they'd missed one? If something else had gotten through? The library was a big place, with a lot of spots for a creature to hide; it wouldn't be too difficult to imagine something slipping by them, and that wasn't a thought that sat well with him.

Becker didn't respond immediately, moving to a better vantage point, and Matt followed his lead. He moved with purpose, and Matt knew better than to get in his way when he was working. "There's something here," he whispered finally. His voice was so low, it was barely audible; Matt barely heard it, and he was standing right next to him.

_"What was that?"_ said Jess. And if Matt wasn't imagining it, Becker nearly flinched at the sound of it. High alert, then. Not a good sign. Matt's hand went to the EMD at his hip, just to be safe. Although he couldn't help noticing it wasn't an EMD Becker was holding. Try as Matt did to discourage the behaviour, he never did leave the office without at least one regular firearm at his side, usually his standard-issue sidearm. He supposed it made sense; dinosaurs weren't the only threats they could face, and even at that, sometimes Matt had to admit that non-lethal wasn't an option.

Still, the creatures they'd seen weren't but a metre tall, with teeth no longer than a particularly aggressive cat's. They might hurt, yeah, but next to that love bite he'd gotten from the baryonyx, Matt didn't expect Becker had much to fear from their latest charges.

He seemed to disagree. Or maybe he'd seen something that Matt hadn't, that they'd missed on the scans. Becker was a capable soldier, and Matt knew better than to question him without due cause.

"Where?" he whispered instead, voice no louder than Becker's had been.

Becker seemed to hesitate a moment – odd – before tipping his head towards the door. Brilliant. It was outside. While part of Matt took comfort in that, it being a small room with not a lot in the way of cover, the thought of chasing something else about the massive, dusty library, wasn't a pleasant one. Especially not if they were dealing with something more than an errant coelurus.

"Did ye get a look at it?"

Becker nodded. He was moving again, towards the door, and Matt nearly winced in sympathy. The medic might've cleared him for duty, but he was still walking with a bit of a limp. Nothing too pronounced, although it was hard to tell how much of that was the injury being a minor one, and how much of it was Becker being too stubborn to show he was hurting. He'd tried getting him to take the day off yesterday, when he'd first seen him after his stint with the medic. Apparently Connor'd tried the same that morning before he came in – he very deliberately didn't think about what the two of them were doing together that morning before they came in. Seemed they'd neither of them had any success.

Part of Matt was grateful for it, now. Without Becker's command, getting the exclusion zone set up as quickly as they had and getting the library shut down and quartered off, things would've been a lot messier than they had been. And while one coelurus wasn't all that scary to someone that knew what they were doing, set a pack of them on a civilian, and lives would be lost. They'd avoided that today, in part because of Becker. So stubborn as he was, and he _was_ stubborn, Matt would always be one of the first to admit the man knew what he was doing.

Which was why he was trying so hard to work with him, now, even when he was being less than helpful. "Well?" he pressed. "What did it look like?"

_"What did what look like?"_ Jess said over the comm. Again, Becker tensed. Maybe the volume was up a touch too high on his receiver. Something to look at later. Or maybe he was just all nerves. Matt knew the feeling, the tension in his gut and the bowstring muscles, ready to snap at the slightest sound or sight.

Becker seemed to be thinking. His brows furrowed, the corners of his lips pulling down into a frown as he peered around the corner of the room. Like he couldn't quite remember or something.

Odd, Matt thought. Because even after you'd seen as many as they had, dinosaurs were the sort of thing a man remembered. Especially a man like Becker, who could memorize the layout of the bloody Buckingham Palace at a glance and pen it from memory three years later. Maybe he wasn't a scientist, but the man was a bloody genius in his own right.

That was why his behaviour now struck Matt as so odd. Disjointed, almost. Becker was always so keen, so curt. He didn't forget things. He didn't falter like he was, now.

And then a thought occurred to Matt, one that both sickened and startled him all at once. One that stopped his feet and widened his eyes as he turned them from the hall, instead, to study Becker. His own wide, fever-bright eyes. The sweat beading on his brow. The shallow breaths. Dilated pupils. The thought grew, from vague notion to strange suspicion, and finally, as Becker peered once more out into the hall Matt had only _just_ come from as if it held the devil himself, to startling realization.

There wasn't anything there.

"Becker," Matt said, only to realize his mistake when Becker turned and hushed him again. Too loud. Whatever it was that was out there – whatever it was Becker _thought_ was out there, Becker was worried it would hear him. And even if Matt was right, and there really wasn't anything there, then telling Becker that wasn't going to end well. Especially not if he'd crossed the line from malaise to paranoia. There was no telling what state he was in.

When next he spoke, it was quieter, but firm. "Becker, get back." The abruptness of it caught Becker's attention, as he hoped it would, and Becker pulled back enough that Matt was able to pull the door closed.

"What is it?" This time, it was Becker asking the question. His hand was gripping his pistol tightly. Enough so, in fact, that Matt couldn't help wondering if it mightn't be a bad idea for a man he suspected more and more wasn't in the soundest state of mind, to be holding a loaded weapon.

He would tread cautiously. "Thought I saw something," he said. "But I think it might've just been the light."

_"There's nothing on the scans," _Jess told them over the comms. _"Right, Connor?"_

_"I've got nothing here, either." _

"Then the scans are wrong," Becker said firmly. His teeth were gritted, his grip tight on the pistol. He'd taken to leaning against the wall, eyes darting occasionally through the window on the door. Keeping watch.

With Connor and Jess's assurances, though, Matt was really starting to think there was nothing there to see. There was something the matter with Becker. He hadn't seen it at first, couldn't hear it over the comms, but there was definitely something off. He was showing signs of shock.

_"They've been right every other time, mate," _Connor was saying, _"I don't see that's changed any, not for no reason. Haven't done anything differently. You two sure there's something there?" _

"I'm sure, Connor." The patience in Becker's voice was strained. Or maybe it was just his voice, period, that was that way. "There's something here."

And nothing could convince him otherwise, it seemed. The farther along this got, the more troubling it was. The more worrying it was. Becker wasn't the type to be irrational, but there was no telling the impact his illness or exhaustion or shock or whatever it was on his ability to see reason. And Matt couldn't bring him around on his own. They were friends, he and Becker, but there were limits to how much that sort of thing could get through to a person. He needed reinforcements.

He had an idea.

"Connor, you and Abby see if you can't make your way down here. See what's going on with the readings."

There was some hesitation, but then, _"Right. On our way. To the copy room, yeah? There in two shakes, so long as you're not counting."_

The look Becker shot him was a mix of perplexed and pissed off. "What are you doing?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "There's something out there. They could get hurt."

"I'm sure they'll be fine." And if anyone was going to be able to reason with Becker, it was going to be Connor. Of that, Matt was certain. In the meantime, "What about you?"

"What about me?" Becker had taken to leaning against the wall, and Matt couldn't help noticing he wasn't putting any weight on his right leg. Whatever this was, he would bet good odds it had to do with that wound. The baryonyx wasn't venomous as far as they knew, so at least there was that. But there were still worlds of other concerns when dealing with injuries from these prehistoric creatures. Infections, unseen tissue damage. The former, he thought, would account for the fever, the sweats, the hallucinations.

Matt nodded down at Becker's leg. "From yesterday."

"It's fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." If it was any shorter, he wouldn't have spoken at all. His face was drawn, and Matt couldn't be sure how much was temper and how much was pain. But neither boded well for a sound conversation. As if to prove his point, Becker turned back to the window. "Help me...help me look."

It was the breath in the middle that made Matt stop and pause. Becker was fit. Fitter than most, and certainly fit enough he could make it three bloody words without taking a break around the middle. That, with the way he was leaning on the wall, made Matt think he was getting worse.

"Connor, Abby, where are you?" He had half a mind to call in a medical team, but he didn't want to stir things up. This would be trouble enough without getting Becker all bent out of shape.

"Getting close to the southeast corner. Shouldn't be more than a minute or two," Abby said.

"Good."

"Be careful," Becker told them. "Don't be reckless."

There was a scoff that sounded a bit like Abby, but then, after a second, he heard Connor chime back up. "What about you two?" he asked. "Everything alright on your end, mates?" His tone sounded light enough, but Matt could hear the concern lacing it. He could almost see Connor's face, the way his brows would pull in and his nose would do that strange thing that Becker had once, when heavily plied with alcohol, insisted was 'bloody adorable.' Connor had the poker face of an excited three-year-old, and it made reading his expressions very easy. It also made imagining them the same.

Unfortunately, Becker was a bit more difficult a nut to crack. Matt had already decided there was something wrong, but beyond that, it was difficult to say. He was much better at hiding things than his scientist counterpart. "I said I was fine." It was the kind of voice that held no room for argument, and Connor must've heard it as such, because after a muttered apology, he didn't say anything else. And Becker must've felt bad about it, because he let out a sigh and thumped his head against the wall.

Matt didn't think anything of it, until he didn't lift his head again.

"Becker—"

"I swear to bloody hell, if you ask me if I'm alright again." He didn't say what he'd do, but the implication was there: nothing pleasant. He was clearly getting on his last nerve. His last leg, too, from the looks of things, and Matt meant that literally. He looked...worn down.

Wanting to avoid a fight, Matt held up his hands in surrender. "I wasn't going to." Which wasn't actually a lie. He wasn't going to ask if Becker was alright, because he really didn't need to. Clearly, he wasn't. "I was only goin' to suggest ye sit down, take a load off until Connor and Abby get here."

_"Might not be a bad idea," _Connor agreed over the comms. Becker's narrow eyes narrowed further, as if he was glaring at Connor in his head, but Matt sent him a silent thank you. It wasn't that he thought Becker would listen to either of them, really. For all the grief he gave them, Becker could be the most stubborn of the lot when he put his mind to it. But if he was going to listen to anybody, it would be Connor. It would always be Connor.

And he needed to listen, Becker did. Matt could see it now, and his suggestion had really just been a roundabout way of telling Becker to sit down before he fell down, because it was really only a matter of time. He was breathing hard, the few drops of sweat from before spread out to a thin, sickly-looking sheen on his pale skin. He looked ill, really and truly ill, and Matt was concerned. He should be lying down, or sitting at the very least, until they could get someone to have a look at him.

Unfortunately, Becker didn't seem to agree. "No," he said, in that vague kind of voice a child refuses to do something sensible like go to bed when they're a wink and a breath from falling asleep where they stand. And while it did seem odd, comparing the six-plus foot soldier to a petulant child, the comparison was too spot-on not to.

"Why not, mate?" Matt tried. "Connor and Abby are nearly here. We'd know by now if they ran into trouble."

_"I don't think there's any to run into,"_ Jess said.

Becker's jaw clenched visibly. "I saw it." He sounded insistent. Annoyed, almost, like he was the only one making sense and they were the ones not seeing reason. "Don't be careless; you'll get yourselves—"

_"What?"_ It was Abby this time. _"We'll get ourselves what? There's nothing here, guys. We aren't getting any readings; we can't hear anything. There's nothing, Becker. Becker?"_

"Shh, Abby."

_"What?"_

"Just...quiet a moment." Matt was whispering now, voice low and eyes fixed on Becker where he stood at the door. And for the first time, the light hit just right, and Matt saw something shiny high on the leg of his trousers. Something wet, something dark. Blood. He was bleeding, heavily, and he didn't even seem to notice. He was looking at something. Or maybe for something, Matt thought. His eyes were wide and wild, nose flared and breath fogging on the glass. It was like he'd caught a glimpse of something again, just a glimpse, and was trying to see the rest of it. He'd raised his gun again.

"There's something there," Becker said at last. He sounded..._haunted_. Like nothing Matt had ever heard before. "I saw it. There's something there." He was arguing, Matt realized. With Abby. With himself. With the reality presented to him. Their sensors weren't picking anything up, they didn't see anything, and search as he might, it didn't seem like Becker could see what he was looking for, either.

So, Matt tried to help him. Just to snap him out of whatever daze he was in, give him a hand. A lifeline, of sorts. "There's nothing there, mate," he said mildly.

But Becker shook his head. He took a step, and Matt could see now he was hardly keeping his feet under him. Most of his weight seemed pressed against the wall where his shoulder leaned into it, and each movement was unsteady and laboured. Even his breaths. "It's there. Out there, with them. Connor and Abby."

_"We're fine, mate," _Connor said. He sounded worried now, too. It seemed they'd all caught on, then. _"We're almost there. I told you: just sit tight, we'll be there in two shakes. One and a half, maybe, now." _

"You can't."

"It's fine, Becker. They're fine." And then he tried, "Why don't you just give me the gun?"

That, as it turned out, wasn't the right thing to say. And really, Matt should've known better. Telling a man like Becker to surrender his weapon, especially in what he perceived to be a crisis situation where people he loved where in danger, could never go the way he wanted it to.

"Why in the hell would I do that?" He sounded genuinely flabbergasted. And not a little pissed off, to boot.

"Because you're not fit to hold it."

"I said I was fine!"

"And I'm telling you you're not!"

There it was. Becker couldn't have looked more shocked if Matt had smacked him across the face. He looked stunned for a moment, leaning back against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him up. His brows furrowed.

Matt sighed. Not exactly the delicate approach he'd wanted. But Becker was getting worse by the moment. It was hard to say how bad the bleeding was, against the black of his cargos, but if it was bad enough to bleed through them, then it couldn't be anything good. And his eyes were starting to shift out of focus. He needed to get off that leg, get lying down, before he passed out or went into shock or some combination of the two. "Your leg, Becker," he said by way of the only explanation he had. "Look at your leg, mate."

_"What's wrong with his leg?"_ Connor definitely sounded worried, now.

Becker was looking down, and it seemed like it was the first time he noticed it was bleeding again. Or at least noticed how bad it was. He lowered a hand to it, the one not holding his gun, and ran his fingers along the wet spot with this sort of detached curiosity on his face. It morphed into something like disbelief when they came away red, as if he'd forgotten he was injured in the first place, and Matt couldn't help noticing his hand was shaking.

Matt thought that would be the end of it, that the sight of his own blood was enough to snap him out of it, or at least settle him down. So he reached for his gun.

A mistake. Becker jerked back as Matt's hand closed around the pistol, but for the first time since Matt had ever met him, he lost his grip. Becker, who had never been disarmed in all the sparring matches and drills he'd ever seen, dropped his gun, and for a moment, both watched in stunned silence as it skittered across the floor and slid to a halt.

_"Matt? Matt, what's happened? Is Becker okay?" _Connor's voice was a constant accompaniment in the background, but Matt wasn't paying any attention to it. He had Becker's eyes, and Becker had his, and neither moved.

And then they both did.

Becker started for the gun the same time Matt started for Becker, and they ended up meeting somewhere in the middle. Matt grabbed hold of Becker's arm, managed to get a good enough grip on his wrist to twist it around behind his back, only Becker broke the hold before he could secure it well enough. Were it any other time, Becker probably would've had him laid out on his ass before he could even think of trying for it again.

Only, it wasn't any other time, and Becker was hurt. Badly. And he was slower for it, weaker, enough that Matt managed to turn him into another attempt, hooking an arm under his, higher, right beneath the armpit, and pulling him into a makeshift half-nelson. Training, reflex, and common sense – even injured, Becker was the taller of the two of them, and Matt might've gotten the drop on him, but Becker could get out just about anything if he had the chance to collect himself – had him kicking out the back of Becker's good leg. The bad one couldn't hope to support him, and he went down with a sharp, pained grunt.

That was just about when Connor and Abby came in.


	2. Chapter 2

They weren't answering their comms, Matt or Becker. Neither one of them were answering after they heard the little bit of ruckus, and Connor's heart was somewhere up in his throat where a heart had no place being.

He was practically sprinting down the hall. They weren't in the bloody copy room like they were supposed to be, so someplace else. He looked in each door they passed. Nothing. Nothing. Less than nothing. Posh, but nothing.

It was when they came to the first closed door that Connor skidded to a halt. He could hear something going on inside behind the door, and he could hear it over his comm. Shouting, struggling. It sounded like a right match of something going on behind the door. Behind him, he heard Abby pull out her weapon, but Connor didn't follow her lead. He was too busy wrenching the door near off its bloody hinges getting inside.

The sight that greeted him made him stop. There were Becker and Matt, both still alive and in one piece. But Connor knew he must've missed something, because they were both on the ground. Matt had Becker's arm twisted round behind his back, and Becker was on his knees, one leg stretched out at an angle that made Connor's hip twinge in sympathy, the other barely seeming to manage to support his weight. If anything, it looked like Matt was holding him up just as much as he was holding him down, and they were having a right tussle of it right there on the office floor.

Abby was the first to speak. "What the hell is this?" she said. She hadn't lowered her weapon, and as much as Connor wanted to tell her to – it was just Becker and Matt, for crying out loud – he couldn't find the words. Something was clearly very, very wrong, and until he knew what it was, best to play it safe.

Still, he wouldn't have minded her at least pointing it a little at an angle. Becker'd been shot by those bloody EMD's too many times; Connor was afraid the next might light him up like a Christmas tree, or else give him spasms or something that wouldn't go away quite so quick as they usually did. And he rather liked his boyfriend unlit and spasm free, thankyouverymuch. He also liked him not tussling with his mate and kneeling in what looked like a smear of blood. That was a bit alarming. And by a bit, he meant his heart wormed its way up a few more inches into his trachea. Any more, he'd be coughing up a ventricle.

Matt wasn't letting up, though, and Connor knew he probably had good reason. Becker didn't look like he was entirely with it, and the way he'd been talking the last few minutes on the comms….

"Abby, get his gun," Matt instructed through teeth gritted from the effort of fighting with Becker. "Connor, come help me with him."

That snapped Connor out of his daze, and he was moving same as Abby before he even realized he was doing it. He wasn't really sure what he was doing; he just…_did_ something, closing the distance between himself and the pair having it out on the floor in a few quick strides, and without much thought at all, he was grabbing Becker by the shoulders, trying to hold him still.

"Becker," he said, but he wasn't sure he heard him. He was twisting and bucking like a man possessed, like they were the enemy and he was trying to escape. It made Connor ache to see it. Made him feel like he was betraying him somehow, holding him against his will when he growled and grunted and demanded they let him go, but he tried to perish the thought. There was something the matter with him. They were helping him. "Becker! Hey! Look at me, would you?" But nothing doing. He caught Matt's eyes over Becker's shoulder, saw the worry in them, and felt his gut do a dive before he steeled himself again. It didn't matter if he was worried. It didn't matter if Matt was. Becker was in trouble. He was bleeding, and he acted like he was half out of his head, and Connor was going to help him.

"I've got it!" Abby said, and Becker's head snapped her way. His gun. She had his gun. He could practically see the realization forming in Becker's too-wide eyes.

On reflex, he moved his hands up from Becker's shoulders to cup either side of his head, turning it back around. "Hey, hey, look at me," he told him. "Just look at me." Not that he was giving him much choice. Becker's eyes were still at an angle, like he was trying to see through Connor's hands or his own skull, but there really wasn't anything he could do. Didn't stop him from trying, though, and Connor was getting desperate. He'd never seen Becker so out of sorts, with his wide eyes and his laboured breaths, like he'd just run a mile from a serial killer and still expected it was right behind him. Only, there was nothing there. Not even a dinosaur, and Connor'd never seen Becker look like that for a dinosaur only. He looked...well, he looked scared. Genuinely scared.

"Jess, we'll need a medical team down here," Matt was saying.

_"They're already on their way. Ten minutes, at most."_

"No medics," Becker said through gritted teeth. "Just let me up."

Matt shook his head and kept his hold. "I don't think that'd be a good idea, mate. I think you need to stay here and settle—" a particularly harsh jerk from Becker cut Matt off a second, but he carried on once he got his grip back, "—settle down."

"Matt's right," Connor tried telling him. "There's nothing to worry about. There's nothing here but the four of us. And maybe the odd mouse or dust mite. No dinosaurs, though. It's all clear."

But Becker was shaking his head, just as much as Connor's hands would allow. "I saw it," he insisted. He wouldn't meet Connor's eyes as he said it, keeping them fixed now on the floor and repeating heatedly, "I swear I saw it. I...I swear I—"

"I know," Connor interrupted, before Becker could work himself into another tizzy. He was starting to settle down, starting to slump between Matt and Connor like he couldn't quite keep himself up any longer, and Connor wasn't really sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but he was going to take it and run with it. Kneeling down, not trying too hard to avoid the spot of blood on the floor by where Becker's bad leg was, he tipped his head forward against Becker's. He was startled by the heat against his brow, but he'd already felt it against his palms. Becker was burning up and clammy all at the same time, but he tried to ignore it. Same as he tried to ignore the way Becker flinched.

He mustered up a weak smile as their noses brushed. It'd taken them a good week to figure out how to kiss properly when they'd first started at this. They both always wanted to go right. Nearly took Becker's eye out, Connor did, and more than once, before Becker had finally relented. Not because he was the pushover of the two of them – although Connor had been pleased to find out he'd always been right when he'd suspected Becker was secretly a big softy – but because he was the most likely to remember it.

When Becker stopped fighting them, he felt himself start to relax a bit, too. Not much, just a bit. Enough that the smile came a little easier. "There, see? You're alright. Not so hard, was it, now?" He even managed a soft laugh, even though his eyes were burning. Bloody hell. Becker was the one bleeding all over the floor, seeing dinosaurs that weren't there; what was he doing tearing up? It was just...he was shaking. Becker was. He was shaking all over, and he was hurt, and one minute, he was just sitting there, and the next, he had his head buried in Connor's shoulder. He couldn't even hug him; Matt still had hold of his arms. He was just kneeling there, head bowed against Connor's neck with his arms stretched out behind him like he was some sort of prisoner.

He was whispering something, too, Connor realized. It took him a second to translate, muffled as it was, but he was saying that he saw it. Just repeating it, over and over again. He saw it. It sounded almost like a plea. Begging Connor to believe him, to agree with him, to say something.

But Connor didn't know what to say. All he knew to do was curl a hand around the back of his head, a sort of half-hug since anything more would've pulled Matt into it, and hold him there until finally, something came out. "You're alright," he said, and tried desperately to ignore the moisture he could feel against his neck. Sweat, tears. It didn't matter. "It's gonna be alright."

The mantra changed, then, and Connor felt Becker start to move again.

"What was that?" he said. But instead of giving an answer, Becker just turned away, doubled over as much as he could with Matt's hold on him, and threw up. Connor practically leapt up out of the way, even though it would've missed him anyway, but Matt was stuck holding him there. Probably for the better; Connor wasn't really sure he could hold himself up.

"Get it out, mate," Matt said, in what Connor guessed was sympathy. Or reassurance. Really, it was hard to tell through the grimace. Not that he could talk. He was wincing, himself. Becker wasn't just getting the short stick; he was getting beat all over with it, the poor bloke. "Medics are on their way. Just hang in there 'til then."

A feat easier said than done, apparently, because everything Becker had left in the tank seemed to go with whatever he had left in his stomach. The heaves had only just stopped when he slumped forward, and Connor rushed forward the same time Matt leaned back, both trying to keep him from falling face-first into his own sick. Mercifully, they succeeded, but only just barely, and they both exchanged worried looks.

"Let's get him lying back," Matt said, and between the two of them, they managed to get Becker pulled back away from the puddle of vomit and lying out flat on his back. Connor was quick to shrug out of his jacket to tuck behind Becker's head. Heaven only knew he'd have done the same for Connor in a heartbeat. "Becker, ye still with us, mate?" He got his answer when he reached for Becker's neck to feel his pulse, and Becker flinched back. "Easy, now. Just take it easy."

And it was a sure sign of just how far gone Becker was that he didn't even protest being talked to like some sort of spooked animal. He just swallowed thickly, coughed, and laid his head back against Connor's jacket. By then, Connor had taken up station on the other side of him from Matt, and Abby was standing by watching closely. Waiting to step in and lend a hand, no doubt.

When Becker's eyes started closing, Matt gave him a couple sharp taps to the cheek he didn't seem to like much. He gave a start, blinking sluggishly and wiping at his eyes like he could somehow force them to stay open. His brows furrowed and his lips turned down in to a sharp frown.

"Need ye to stay awake," Matt said, then turned to Abby. "His pulse is too slow. We need to slow the bleeding, get him warmed up. Abby, could ye fetch that chair, get his legs up on it. Don't want him gettin' shocky on us."

Abby was already moving before he'd finished, grabbing the chair from behind the desk and hauling it around. It didn't have any wheels on it, so the noise was pretty horrid. But it was nothing next to the noise Becker made when they lifted his legs up onto the chair. He groaned, eyes squeezing shut tight and head digging back into the makeshift pillow while his jaw clenched so hard Connor could see the muscles through his skin. He reached down and grabbed his hand on impulse. Let him squeeze his hand 'til it broke, if it made him feel any better.

Well, he'd rather it didn't go that far. But if that was what Becker needed, he could take whatever he had to dish out.

"Sorry, mate. Wish I could tell ye that's the worst of it." But considering he already had a pocket knife in his hand, going for the leg of Becker's trousers, something told Connor this was going to get a lot less pleasant. He had the first aid kit out from one of the packs, too. "Abby, if ye could." He nodded towards Becker's legs. The unspoken message was clear: hold them. This could get tricky, if Becker wasn't all with it. Abby got the message loud and clear, grabbing hold of Becker's boots around the chair. Short of sitting on them, it was probably as good a hold as she would get on them.

"Try not to take my teeth out, yeah?" Abby half-joked as Matt started cutting away his trousers. Even that much moving around his wound seemed to hurt him, if the tightening of his grip was any indication. Never mind when Matt actually got to the bandage.

A glance at it made Connor's stomach turn. It would've been bad enough if it had just been a bleed, if it was just red where he'd maybe torn some stitches or something. It wasn't good, but it was natural. Red was a natural colour for wounds.

But no. There was red, yeah, and more of it than Connor wanted. But there was this sickly yellow there, too. Almost orange. The colour of pus and infection and all things that weren't a good sign on a wound.

Becker started to raise his head, but Connor thought better of it and held his head back down to the jacket. He didn't need to see it. "You don't want to look at that," he said. "Just keep your eyes on me, aye? Might not be much to look at, but I'll do in a pinch." The smile was strained again, but it was the best he had.

In return, Becker's lips twitched. It might've been a smile. At any rate, his eyes found Connor's face, and Connor figured that had to be better than seeing his blood leak out all over the place. And then Becker muttered something that Connor almost missed but didn't.

He smiled a bit wider. "Sorry, what was that?"

Becker might've snorted, or it might've been a grunt. Either way, Connor had heard him well enough the first time. _You're beautiful_, he said. And if Connor was feeling particularly magnanimous, he might chalk it up to his being in the state he was in. Otherwise, he was getting it in bloody writing, just as soon as Becker was able.

It was a nice reprieve from the tension of the moment, but that was all it was: a break, and it had to come to an end.

"Fucking hell," Matt swore, and that got everyone's attention. Connor and Abby both looked, and they both of them took on grim faces to match Matt's.

Becker's leg was horrid. He hadn't seen the bite yesterday – Becker'd already been to the medics and had it wrapped when Connor had seen him – but he sincerely hoped it hadn't looked like this. The wound itself was about the size of Connor's hand, a series of shallow gashes running perpendicular to the length of Becker's right thigh. They'd all been stitched up well enough, and save a few busted stitches here and there, they looked to be in alright shape. But in the middle of it, on the front and Connor assumed the back, there were little holes. No bigger around than Connor's thumb, they wouldn't have looked so bad, except the way the skin around them was puckered and inflamed. The whole area was red and swollen and angry-looking, and damned if it didn't have a smell to it that made Connor's stomach turn.

"This wound should've been packed and drained. Ye said they cleared you?"

"It wasn't—" Becker's voice caught as Matt pulled the last of the bandage away from his leg, and his nose flared around a breath. He was hurting. He was hurting badly. "It wasn't so bad yesterday. Thought it was alright." If the pallor of his skin and the agony on his face were anything to go by, he was having some serious second thoughts on that assessment.

He was about to have more than second thoughts, Connor realized, as Matt unscrewed the cap of the rubbing alcohol.

"Try and hold still, Becker. This'll hurt." It was all the warning Matt gave before he turned the bottle over the wound.

It was like someone sent a current through him, the moment the first liquid splashed over Becker's wound. His whole body seized up, and something that sounded an awful lot like a scream caught in his throat behind gritted teeth. His back arched up off the industrial carpet of the floor, and Connor had to devote his free hand to grabbing for Becker's other arm to keep him from making a grab at his leg.

"Breathe, Becker," Matt said. "You still with us?"

A tense, jerky nod was all he got, and even that was cut short as another splash of alcohol poured over his wound. It was disgusting, the way it festered and bubbled. Peroxide, maybe? Only peroxide didn't smell like that. So Connor didn't want to think about what was doing the bubbling. Becker's whole body seemed to spasm and twitch. The shaking was almost violent, and his face was deathly pale.

"Matt, the blanket," Connor said. He wasn't a medic or anything, but he'd been through basic field training. Part of being allowed in the field at all. Becker was showing all the signs of someone going into shock, and that meant they needed to keep his legs elevated, keep him awake, and keep him warm.

Just as soon as he was done with the alcohol, Matt fished the blanket out of the bag, and Connor quickly unrolled it and pulled it over as much of Becker as he could cover. "You're alright," he kept telling him, brushing his sweat-matted hair away from his brow and squeezing his hand. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do. "The medics are coming, mate. You'll be alright." Although from the sounds of things, the medics weren't the saviours they were all cracked up to be. Whoever'd been in charge of Becker after yesterday had certainly cocked it up.

_"They're almost there," _Jess said. She sounded a bit faint herself. Probably watching it all on the CCTV's and hearing it through the comms. Connor didn't envy her. He'd rather be there, able to do something. Even if it was just holding Becker's hand and talking to him. _"How is he?" _

"He's tough," was Matt's answer. "He'll be just fine, won't you, Becker?"

Becker hummed something that might have been agreement, and honestly, Connor was impressed he managed that much. If their places were switched, he probably would've been incoherent by then. Or unconscious.

"That's a good man. But I'm goin' to need you to bear with me a bit longer. I need to bind your wound, slow the bleeding. Understand?" In other words, there's more pain coming your way.

The rattle in Becker's chest could've been a chuckle just as easily as it could've been a sob, but he nodded just the same. "Do it," he said. His voice was pitched higher than usual, strained. His chest heaved, and his hand was a vice around Connor's. "Just do it."

So Matt did it.

And for all the times that Connor saw Becker do something incredible and thought to himself he couldn't just be human, he couldn't just be like the rest of them, he really did know better. Becker was only human. He was strong, tougher than nails and harder than any bloke Connor'd ever met in his whole life. But he was just a twenty-eight-year-old man, the youngest of the entire bloody field team, and there was only so much hell even he could take.

His body seized up one last time, and then Connor watched as his eyes rolled back in his head, and he was dead to the world.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing he heard were voices.

"...almost a day now...not like him."

"He needs…lost a lot of blood…wake up when he's ready. Just give him time."

They were getting clearer. Louder.

"I know. Just never seen him like this is all, all laid up and out cold. And before…" The first voice, the one that sounded the clearest of the pair, caught towards the end. Hitched. There was a pause, a silence, too thick and too heavy. Too long.

He drifted.

"…he asleep?"

"Has been…hasn't left all day. Barely got him to shower."

"Poor thing."

"He'll be alright."

"And Becker?"

His name. They…_she_ was asking about him. He knew her voice. Jess…no. Abby? Abby. And the man…Matt. Abby and Matt.

_Abby, get his gun._

With a start, Becker's hand went for his side. His heart leapt into his chest, and he opened his eyes, only to shut them at the near-blinding light that hit them. He recoiled, one hand going to shield his face while the other felt around, but there was nothing there. No primary sidearm, no secondary, no knife. Not even the bloody taser he kept. None of it was there, because it was all in his belt and his trousers and his tac vest, and they were all..._not there_. Gone. Taken.

"Easy, mate," he heard Matt say over the thundering of his heart in his ears and this infernal beeping he'd only just noticed and now wished he hadn't. There had been something beside him, too, something weighing down whatever surface he was lying on near his shoulder, but it was gone, too. Everything was moving, and bloody hell, Becker felt like he was going to retch. He'd never been motion sick before, but he wagered this was what it would feel like. A steadying hand found his shoulder, holding firm even when he flinched. "Just take it easy, Becker. You're back at ARC, in the infirmary. You're safe."

And as Becker managed to peel his eyes open again and they started to adjust to the harsh light of the room, he saw that Matt was telling the truth. He knew every inch of that building, from floor to ceiling. And the white panels and fluorescent lights he was staring up at were definitely those of the infirmary.

He'd no sooner come to the conclusion, though, then they were gone. At first, he couldn't see what'd taken their place. It went from too bright to too dark in a matter of seconds, and he had to squint to try to see properly. But when he did, it was worth it.

"Connor." The word barely sounded at all. His voice was hoarse, his mouth was dry, and it felt like he'd drunk a pub the night before, right down to the foul taste in his mouth. How Connor could stand to hover so close was beyond him.

Then Connor smiled, though, and he didn't bloody care what his breath smelled like, because it was the kind of smile that split his face in two and showed off his teeth and his dimples, and his eyes nearly disappeared behind his cheeks. Nearly. Becker could still see the moisture welling in them, then spilling over, then rolling down his clearly recently-shaven cheeks. "Morning, sunshine," he said, voice all full of trembles from the tears.

Becker was still a bit fuzzy. He suspected it had something to do with the IV he saw taped in the back of his hand when he lifted it from the bed, but he couldn't be arsed to dwell on it. Instead, he brought his hand to Connor's cheek, a bit clumsily, and wiped his thumb across the first track of tears. He didn't really remember yet what had happened, what _was_ happening, but he knew whatever Connor was crying about, it probably wasn't worth crying over. Not if it had to do with him. "Stop crying." He was aiming for firm, but fell short and was happy to settle somewhere in the neighbourhood of fond and maybe a touch pleading. He hated to see Connor cry. Hated it.

Somewhere behind Connor, off to Becker's left, he heard Abby say, "He's definitely back." Matt laughed, and Becker was taking in a breath to inform the lot of them that he didn't remember going anywhere in the first place, so could they stop acting like he'd just come back from war or something. He'd done that once already, thanks, and the experience didn't need repeating.

Only, he never got around to saying it, because he hadn't even finished taking in the breath when a pair of arms threw themselves around him, and suddenly Connor had him in a vice grip. Small as he was, the Cretaceous had put some muscle on him, and he'd kept it. Becker tried to sit up a bit, make the position less awkward, but his entire body seemed to decide that was an opportune time to remind him that it bloody _hurt_.

He grunted behind gritted teeth. "Connor, my—"

He hadn't even gotten the whole sentence out when Connor was letting him go, and Becker frowned. He hadn't planned on telling him to let go, just to maybe lighten up a bit, or at least let him sit the damn bed up first, but Connor had, as always, gone the extra step and actually started to take a step back.

_Where the hell does he think he's going_? Not very far, wherever it was, if Becker had anything to say about it. He caught the front of Connor's shirt in his IV-less hand and held fast. It wasn't much, but it was enough to tell Connor he was fine right where he was, so stop moving thanks. Meanwhile, Becker tried to remember how to breathe properly whilst all his muscles simultaneously seized up in protest.

"Ye'll want to stay still a bit," Matt said helpfully from just behind Connor's left shoulder. "Two days without moving on top of what ye've been through the last few days—"

"_Two days_?" Becker gaped. He'd been asleep two days? How the hell had that been allowed to happen? Now he _had_ to get up, if only to prove to himself he still could. Two ruddy days...

Unfortunately, he couldn't even make it all of two inches before what felt like a dagger stabbed into his leg. He swore.

"—is bound to make ye a bit sore," Matt finished, deadpan.

Becker shot him a look, but stubbornly refused to stop until he'd done what he meant to do. It was his leg that was the problem. A baryonyx, the library...it was coming back to him. Slowly, but it was coming back to him. So with his leg out of commission, he braced his arms on the infirmary bed and pushed himself up that way. It still hurt. He had bruises and cuts here and there, and his arms were hellishly sore for some reason, especially 'round the shoulders, but he managed, and Connor already had the pillows moved and the back of the bed raised so that when he was satisfied, he could lean back, and he was more or less sitting up.

Thank God for that. And for him. Thank God for Connor Temple.

"Think you could drink something?" asked said scientist. He asked it like it was a genuine question. Like Becker might very well be unable to manage even a sip of water. And even through the smile, Becker could see now a lingering hint of worry clouding his eyes.

"Connor." Becker waited until Connor actually made eye contact to continue, saying simply, firmly, deliberately, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, well, we've all heard that before."

As Connor, Matt, and Abby all three exchanged looks, Becker got the sudden feeling he'd been left out of the loop. He didn't like that feeling. His brows furrowed.

"What?" he said, and when they did another look round between them, he got impatient. "_What_?"

It was Abby that chimed in first. "You really don't remember any of it, do you?"

"Clearly, I don't, seeing as I've got no idea what the three of you are on about. So?"

"So what?" Connor asked.

"_So_," Becker said, "are you going to tell me what happened, or just keep looking at each other like there's a joke between you I'm not invited to hear?" He was getting irritated. Maybe it was the pounding in his head, worse since he'd woken up and getting heavier by the second, or the overall ache in his body, or the throbbing pain in his leg. Or maybe it was the fact that he'd been asleep for two days apparently, and still felt like he could sleep for two more. Or maybe it was the fact that something had happened. He'd _done_ something, it felt like, something that made Connor worry and Matt shift on his feet like he was guilty of something and Abby look at him like one of her little pets, like he was fragile and dangerous all at the same time. "Damn it, would someone just tell me what's going on?" he snapped.

Connor flinched, and just like that, Becker was the guilty one. As if he hadn't felt shit enough to begin with, now he was yelling at people he cared about and pitching a right fit for what might've been no good reason.

He took as deep a breath as he could, and forced himself to raise his eyes when Matt put a hand on his shoulder again. "Later, mate," he told him. "Once you've had some rest, maybe something to eat." It wasn't patronizing, mercifully; Becker didn't think he could've stood it if it had been. No, it was just...relieved, more than anything. A friend to a friend, for all appearances just glad the other had come round.

It settled Becker, a bit. That, and Connor's hand on his, a softer version of that smile from before on his face. _Yeah, alright_. It wasn't as if the past was going anywhere. At least hopefully not for a day or two.

He just needed a few bases covered. "I didn't kill anybody," he hazarded.

"Do a desk chair and a set of blinds count?" Abby asked.

"How nice was the desk chair?"

Abby shrugged. "Not very."

"Then no." One down, two to go. "I didn't make an arse of myself, did I?"

It was Matt's turn, apparently, and he pursed his lips thoughtfully for one pulse-pounding moment before saying, "No more than usual, I'd say."

Becker actually snorted at that, rolling his eyes. "Hilarious."

"I try."

"Try harder. Or less," Becker said. One more, then. Just the one. It was the one he was sort of afraid to ask. "I didn't...hurt anyone, did I? Any of you?" Because he figured, there was a reason Abby looked at him the way she did. It wasn't quite like she was afraid of him. He knew what that looked like, and that wasn't it. But then, these people didn't do fear the same way most did, so it wasn't as much comfort as he would've liked. "I want to know."

Of the three questions he asked, that was the one that seemed to get them the most. They exchanged looks again. Bloody hell, but Becker was tired of seeing them do that. And he wasn't sure if they held some sort of silent election, but both Matt and Abby almost physically stepped back when Connor started to answer.

"No," he said. "You didn't hurt any of us."

"But?" Becker could hear a but there.

Connor bit his lip, like he wasn't sure he wanted to say what he was going to say. In the end, though, "You had us scared for a minute there."

"Of me?"

"For you," Connor said quickly, but then admitted, "And of you. A bit. Just for a moment, there."

Somehow, that dagger that'd been in his leg before had found its way into Becker's chest. He felt heavier. He cleared his throat. "Right. Well, I'm sorry for...whatever it was I did."

"Becker—" Matt started, but Becker cut him off.

"And I hope you know I would never harm any of you deliberately."

"We know that, Becker," Abby said. "But it wasn't—"

"And in the future, if you ever feel threatened by me—"

"Oh for fuck's sake." And before Becker could finish saying what he was, Connor's lips were on his. It was short, chaste, and his nose nearly took Becker's eye out – his fault, sort of; he forgot to go left – but he supposed it had the desired effect, because when Connor leaned back, all Becker could do was stare at him. "And you say we don't listen. Bloody hell." He shook his head in disbelief. "We were tryin' to tell you that you didn't do anything wrong, mate. Yeah, you were waving that gun round a bit tetchy there, but it wasn't as if you ever actually aimed it at any of us. When I say you had us scared, it wasn't us we were scared you were goin' to hurt, you big idiot. It was you. We thought you were gonna kill yourself, going on like you were. You were like a bloody machine – literally. You had blood running off your leg and you wouldn't even have a lie down. It was sort of mad, to tell you the truth. But we weren't _threatened_ by you. Why would we've been? You were tryin' to protect us."

_Oh_. Well that...cleared things up a bit. He could sort of see it, now. Sort of remember. It was too hazy; it felt more like a dream than something he'd actually done. But he remembered feeling like there was something watching them. Catching glimpses of it. Feeling hunted, chased, and thinking...thinking he was the only one that saw it.

He wet his lips. He could taste Connor's lip balm on them, still. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see it there. A shadow on the wall. The curve of claws. The snap of its jaw. He could remember the desperation, the need to protect Matt and Connor and Abby from something they didn't even know was after them. He remembered—

"Oi, earth to Action Man." Connor was waving a hand in front of his face, and he blinked a few times to clear his head before batting it away. Connor took it with a smile, though. "So, hows about that water, aye?"

"We've actually got to be going now," Abby said. And if she thought Becker would miss the little nudge she gave Matt's leg with the toe of her trainer, she was giving the drugs more credit than they deserved. "I've got the menagerie, and Matt's got..."

Matt, luckily for all involved, took the hint. "I've got a few tests I want to run on some new equipment."

_Vague is good,_ Becker thought. Best not to volunteer too many details when he was lying through his teeth. Clearly, they were just backing off to give them some space. And while Becker appreciated the thought, the execution could've used work.

"So we'll see you two later then, yeah?" Abby said.

And Becker decided, what the hell, and went with it. "Yeah. Tell Rex I said hi." As if he wasn't just a couple of floors up and a wing down. It was still a bit strange, being in an infirmary instead of a hospital. But it was fully equipped, and didn't come with the added awkward challenge of explaining a seventy millimetre tooth mark. Prescriptions were easier to fill, too.

"Will do." Slipping past Connor, Abby leaned in to give him a quick peck on the brow before flitting out.

Matt was next in line, clasping Becker's free hand firmly without jarring the IV line. "Take care, mate," he said, then turned to Connor. "Keep the good soldier in line for us, aye?"

"Aye," Connor agreed. He bumped shoulders with Matt, too, and then the eldest member of their team was gone, and it was just the two of them. At least, it felt that way. There were only three actual rooms in the infirmary, and Becker knew if he looked right outside the door, there would be a full staff of medics on hand. But just for now, he was content in the illusion of privacy.

He slumped back against the bed, letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He didn't even have it in him to flinch when Connor's cool fingers brushed through his hair. But then, that might've been because he was so used to it, and it just felt so damn good.

"Tired, mate?"

"Exhausted," Becker admitted. Through the slits of his eyes still open, he saw Connor smile.

"You should get some sleep then."

"From what I've gathered, so should you." He'd figured it out, now. The weight he'd felt by his shoulder, what Matt and Abby had been saying. "You haven't left, have you?" That had been Connor, sleeping on his bed. Probably slumped over, head on the part of Becker's pillow he wasn't using.

Connor actually blushed, from his nose to the very tips of his ears. "I've been around."

Becker just rolled his eyes.

"Oi, I was worried!" he protested indignantly.

"I know you were." He wanted to tell him he needn't have been, but he knew if the positions had been reversed, he would've done the same, so he couldn't really talk. So, he didn't try. Instead, he moved, pushing himself up again so he could shift over to the right on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Connor asked. He had his hands up like he was going to try to stop Becker, but had thought better of it. They lingered, though, like he hadn't quite made up his mind to let Becker do what he wanted. Probably smart. Becker still felt a bit lightheaded and not himself.

He managed, though, getting far enough over to the side of the cramped little bed that there was a nice little Connor-sized hole for him to pat beside him. "Come on," he said.

Connor stared a minute. "Really?"

"Is there a problem?"

"No," Connor said quickly. "It's just...do you think we'll fit?"

"I think we'll manage." And that seemed to be good enough for Connor, because after pausing long enough to kick off his shoes and shrug out of his jacket, he lifted up the covers and slid in beside him.

"Sorry," he said more than once as the movement jostled his leg. He did chance a glance down at it, and Connor must've seen him looking, because he saw fit to explain.

"They're draining it."

Becker assumed that was what the tube was for, running out from under the bandage wrapped around his thigh. They had that part of his leg uncovered, and raised up on a pillow, and besides a paper-thin gown that crinkled when he moved, he suspected he was naked underneath all the blankets.

He didn't even have the energy to care.

"You alright?" Connor asked once they'd gotten settled. Becker was still on his back, head propped up on the pillows just like he'd been before. But now, he had Connor lying in the crook of his arm, legs stretched out beside his and head pillowed on his shoulder. It was more comfortable than Becker had been the entire time since he'd woken up.

A small smile pulled at his chapped lips, and he turned his head to press a kiss to the top of Connor's hair. He smelled like Becker's shampoo. Probably the first bottle he grabbed, but Becker let himself entertain all other sorts of notions as to why it was. He'd earned it.

"Yes, Connor," he said mildly, and let his eyes slide closed again. "I'm fine."

And he didn't know about all the other times Connor and the others were on about, but this time, he really meant it.


End file.
